


Lights On

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Father/Son Incest, M/M, pacific rim kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want us,” says Chuck, conviction potent in his voice—<i>flashes of skin beneath his hands, shadows around his eyes, want in the way his mouth cants for the current that finally pulls him over</i>. “I want that again for us.”</p><p>Or Chuck stays with the PPDC after the Breach is closed, and becomes something like a personal assistant to Herc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaijusizefeels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: [Herc/Chuck, post-movie maturer!Chuck](http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/2747.html?thread=3157691#t3157691). _Herc is officially promoted to Marshal. Chuck, after he gets out of the hospital, adjusts surprisingly quickly to a more civilian lifestyle. He becomes something like a personal assistant to Herc. Chuck tells everyone that it’s so he can keep an eye on his old man, but everyone knows that it’s really the other way around._
> 
> _Chuck is very capable and everyone remarks on how well his new found maturity suits him._
> 
> _Herc and Chunk finally learns how to communicate without the drift as a crutch._
> 
> _Bonus 1: Herc is turned on by how hot Chuck looks in dress uniform._   
>  _Bonus 2: Chuck has some sort of permanent disability (limping, shakes, fatigue, etc). And he still has a tendency to push himself too hard so Herc has to order him to take a rest occasionally (or pretend that he needs a rest so Chuck will too)_   
>  _Bonus 3: private PPDC jet, do as you will ;D_
> 
> Title based on that single line of _make love with the lights on, baby, tell me what you see_ from The Pierce.

Herc has been accustomed to the anger since Chuck, Charlie then, is eleven years old and the Bell Kiowa is rising from the schoolyard. Taking off to the sky where Chuck gets the perfect view for when the mushroom cloud buries the entirety of downtown Sydney into dust and waste and radiation nobody dares to step in for years to come.

That is ten years of anger and resentment Herc’s lived with, years of wordless resistance spanning the distance of a mess hall table. He’s blocked too many hanbō blows performed with perfect aim and form, caught his fists in his opened palm enough times to stop counting.

What the Hansens have for years is a drift that guts them inside out. But even their kisses, when it finally comes to that, are biting, like they need this to hurt to justify the way the edge of his teeth would catch against his father’s mouth.

Instead, what spills out of them are soft pants and low grunts, and even those disappear under the sound of the shower where they are only touching where they need to.

For Herc, if he does this, he does this with both eyes opened, catching every minute detail for fear that this isn’t exactly what his son needs. Water falling, cascading across his warm skin. Trailing wet and slick over skin and flesh that Herc doesn’t dare to reach for even when he’s got them both fisted in his hands, kissing as they push closer and closer to the edge.

Closer still when they finally fall, spilling over each other to hit the bottom first.

For Chuck—

Herc can’t say.

Perhaps death changes a thing or two, and perhaps, coming back to life changes perspectives too.

At least that’s the only explanation Herc can come up with when he is glancing from another proposal report from the K-Science Department and Chuck is leaning against the edge of his desk with an easy grin.

“Did you forget your glasses on top of your head again?”

Herc blinks, scowls, and swipes a pen from the desk to scribble a signature over the document Chuck finally hands him with amusement. He doesn’t give the kid any satisfaction of rubbing his dry eyes in front of him.

“That was once, Chuck."

“Never going to let you live that down.”

Chuck tells him with a smirk, and this is not the first time that Hercules Hansen wonders whether he’s ever really known his son at all. _Flashes of a towering Striker toppling into waves, stench of ammonia potent in the rush of another kill._ He reaches for his coffee cup and instead of wrapping his hand around lukewarm, he finds a bottle of eye drops next to his reading glasses.

This is not the last time he’s wondered just how well Chuck knows him either.

 

In the beginning, it’s not a change so much as it is a transition.

It takes a good half year before Chuck can finally walk on his own, limp in his steps but tearing that many muscles and shattering that many bones tend to do that. Herc walks into his office, the Marshal’s office, and finds Chuck already sitting on one of the more comfortable chairs across from the desk.

He doesn’t actually see his face until he is stepping around but when he does, he stops short.

“…You okay?”

Herc asks because there is no drift, no headspace where they can share a thousand things in a span of seconds. This is him taking that first step, like he should have done years ago but never thought to, with or without the drift, but he is still catching shadows in the blue of those eyes. And he can imagine Chuck waking up, gasping with nightmares of Sydney razed over, where the smoke has cleared and the radiation is still deep beneath the earth.

Herc only knows this, not because Chuck tells him, but because he can still read his son better than most and not even a cup from Tendo’s personal coffee pot chases away a bad night.

Herc takes a sip and his coffee is one sugar too sweet (just the way Chuck likes his).

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chuck isn’t looking at him when he replies with a smile, so Herc doesn’t press any further. It also goes without saying that Chuck pushes himself a little too far when the world decides that it hasn’t taken enough from them. On another day, Herc will push another inch, orders the kid back to bed or at least take it easy.

On another day, Chuck may even listen.

 _Flashes of New Sydney standing tall in place of his home, a burial ground, dust and ash, blood floods into his mouth._ Herc only takes the half-emptied cup of cold coffee from Chuck and pushes his own into those hands. The heat and scent of a fresh brew doesn’t fix Chuck in a way that Herc wishes it would but it does help when he sees Chuck drink.

His lips lingering over where Herc’s has been.

 

For years, they’ve been throwaway soldiers.

Fighting for a world they don’t care for much. It hasn’t been revenge for a long time now. It is only duty, and the sight of each other strapping into the harness next to them that makes every punch thrown worth the crunch of bones and Kaiju blue contaminating the Pacific Ocean bluer.

And for all that the world calls them father and son, the truth is not so simple. It’s a tangle of emotion, well wishes and why-can’t-you-see like there’s anything left unopened inside their heads.

Turned inside out and strewn across that tangible space even when they still can’t say.

“You’re terrible at this.”

Standing by the bathroom door of dad’s quarters, Chuck tries his hardest not to roll his eyes when Herc turns to him, wiping away that last bit of shaving cream from his face with a towel.

“You’re not that great either.” Herc shoots back even though they both know that to be a lie.

Chuck just shakes his head as he takes the tie from his father’s hands and tugs him a little closer for when he drapes it around his neck. Herc swallows. _Flashes of water falling over skin, wet and slick, tongue and heat, what could be love in his slid-shut eyes._ He tips his head back for Chuck to tighten that knot against his throat. The intimacy doesn’t escape him so he glances down at his watch, only to remember that that he is in a different time zone than the rest of those suits and ties, still miles inland even when the war’s been over for months.

“We have ten minutes until the conference call.”

It’s not chance that Chuck does this, and Herc had to wonder whether the drift ever really left them at all when the kid is already handing him his uniform jacket just as he reaches out for it.

“Come on, suit up.” Chuck says as he pulls away.

The echo in his words is nostalgic, novel in the way that they are in their dress uniforms now. The contrast goes unsaid, his thin smile turning into something deeper when he holds the door open for Herc to go through.

He passes him as he buttons that one last button on his dress blues, passes him with his dimples still in his peripherals. Herc feels a hand resting against the small of his back, and there’s no push, just an insistent itching pull as they make their way to the conference room.

“This is who we’re now, dad.”

Side by side, and really, it’s not so different than stepping inside Striker’s Conn-Pod.

 

Jaeger pilots become a relic.

With the world eager to move on, Mako goes to Japan. Like how she builds Gipsy from ruins, she will build New Tokyo in her sensei’s name. Raleigh follows because Anchorage remains his version of Chuck’s Sydney.

With the world eager to leave them all behind, Hercules is officially promoted to Marshal. And for all that he can become, Chuck stays.

If anyone asks, well, it’s just easier for him to keep an eye on his old man this way. Not that anyone actually asks, not when they can see how Chuck orbits around Herc, always remaining well within his dad’s line of sight.

“—how is he, Herc?”

“He’s doing well, better. Kid’s my—”

“Personal assistant, dad, I dare you to call me your secretary again.” Chuck calls out as he walks into the office and sees Raleigh Becket in the flesh.

“Chuck.”

Just as the American is debating whether the younger man would welcome a handshake, Chuck takes three strides that bring him close enough to come at him swinging. But there are dimples and a too bright grin when Chuck is already clasping a hand in his and dragging Raleigh into a one armed hug.

“Good to see you, mate.”

And the sincerity is the same as that first fight where he catches his fist in his opened palm.

“Good to see you too, kid.”

None of them are Jaeger pilots anymore and their drive suit scars are only skin deep, but nothing stays behind quite like wartime comradery. Every punch thrown, every bone broken forgiven for that single path carved out at the bottom of the ocean for the lady.

Raleigh laughs and pulls back, takes a good long look at the Australian in his all too formal suits.

“Not really my thing, but the old man needs an example,” Chuck explains as he catches the raised eyebrow. Glancing over to see that his dad already has his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, shirtsleeves rolled up all the way to his elbows, “being the _Marshal_ that he is.”

Herc just takes the small stack of files from Chuck’s hands and bans him from the office for the rest of the day with Raleigh in tow. And there are a lot of things the two of them can talk about on their way to find Mako at the K-Science Department. But there is only one thing that matters to relics like them.

“If Yancy’s still around, I wouldn’t be so far as five feet away from him either.”

Raleigh isn’t looking at him when he speaks, they are both looking to Mako when she finally turns around from checking the new equipment being transported to the Tokyo Shatterdome. _Flashes of laughter, snatches of moments stolen, her hair longer, his anger subdued._ The smile she gives them both is one of the future.

Little has changed even if the world has buried her father twice now. Mako Mori is still a head shorter when she joins them and her arms are still strong enough to wrestle him into the Kwoon mats when she wraps him in a hug.

“So, I heard you’re a secretary now.”

But the sound of her laughter in his ear is new.

 

For all that they prefer to grieve their old friends on their own, there are appearances to keep up.

So they go to San Francisco for the one year anniversary of ending the Kaiju War. It will be days of ceremonies and press conferences, questions of the same kind as they grieve empty caskets by Oblivion Bay. But they haven’t arrived and the press isn’t prepared take them apart for another fifteen hours.

Though, the private jet is a bit excessive.

“I think we should talk, dad.”

“Hmm…?” He glances up from the paperwork he is leafing through, finding his son’s gaze settling over him, and there are many things that go through his head. He remembers those words, he remembers Chuck enrolling into Jaeger Academy the next day at fifteen. 

“I want us,” says Chuck, conviction potent in his voice— _flashes of skin beneath his hands, shadows around his eyes, want in the way his mouth cants for the current that finally pulls him over._ “I want that again for us.”

“You’re—”

Chuck shakes his head, and maybe he’s been mature since he is eleven years old and taken off to the sky but the flashes of his all consuming anger has always been good at hiding just that.

“I know what I want, but is this,” Chuck asks because his spitfire personality has been taken out by the sea, the drift long gone between them, and he needs to be sure. “Is this what you want, dad?”

The hand he holds out is not an apology for the years of anger and resentment, but an offer for another start. With Herc, Chuck always know that it will be a little like that old Bell Kiowa taking off for the sky. But maybe, this time, it won’t have to end with a nuke dropped over downtown Sydney.

Herc takes off his reading glasses and drops it into the seat next to him.

It is not without a hint of embarrassment because that is still his son, his blood and flesh, that he’s been aching to kiss since they found a third life pod out at sea. But it’s a new world, and Chuck needs a chance at another life.

“Come here then.”

But to have the kid come back, time and time, just to stay.

Herc pushes the papers into a pile to make room and reaches for the kid’s hand. Instead, he is pulled into Chuck’s lap, knees pressing into the back of those ridiculous white leather seats on each side of his hips.

“Leg,” Chuck tells him with a wicked grin, “can’t kneel like I used to.”

Herc huffs out a soft laugh that turns into a softer groan when he shifts in his lap and manages to press their bodies closer together. “Good thing I’m not as old as you make me out to be.”

“We’ll see about that.”

It is uncharacteristic, even Chuck admits, later, when he laces their fingers together between their bodies. But with the top button undone, dad’s tie a loose knot against his sternum, Chuck has a hard time not to just strip the man in his lap naked already.

He settles with undoing the rest of those buttons and tugging the dress shirt off of those shoulders. Getting tangled around his elbows because Herc can’t be bothered to stop pulling at their belts. They are touching everywhere they want to, his palms a grounding warmth against his skin when he cants his head up for a kiss Herc gladly gives.

What the Hansens have now is an understanding that opens them up. With Chuck, Herc finally lets himself slide his eyes shut when he opens his mouth into the kiss

His teeth catching against his lips with pleasure instead of blood.

 

XXX Kuro


End file.
